Nine Days
by Invader Vega
Summary: ...could scarcely stop weeping for nine days. The events of the day that ruined Lemony's life forever.


_I swear, I'll update French Chicks and Children of Satan soon. Really, this time I will._

_This is entirely book-based, but I am imagining Lemony Snicket as Jude Law with black hair and Beatrice as Julie Hanson. For the record, I don't think Beatrice is the Baudelaire's mother. _

_And why does everybody think Beatrice died at the masked ball? According to Lemony's triptych, her death involved a typewriter and fire._

………………….

"Dear?" Laurent said questioningly, walking into the enormous library. His wife sat at the window, reading a letter. She looked up at the sound of his voice, and stood. "You wanted to see me?" he asked.

"Yes, Laurent…I'm afraid I have something to tell you." Beatrice said sadly. "I received this letter today - "

"It's from him, isn't it?" Laurent interjected. He sank down onto one of the leather chairs, his head in his hands. After all this time, he had thought they were rid of him and the rest of that blasted organization…

"It is." Beatrice said quietly. "It wasn't anything like asking us back to the organization…he just wished us well and hoped I was happy." That wasn't entirely a lie, he _had _said all that. But Beatrice didn't want to disclose the rest of the letter to her poor husband. God only knew nothing good would come of it. Laurent wouldn't understand.

"But it got me thinking…and I think that our marriage was a bad idea. It was too soon after…after we broke the engagement." Beatrice said in barely more than a whisper.

"You still love him, don't you? After all that he's said, after what he's done?" Laurent said, barely suppressing anger and misery.

"I do." Beatrice admitted.

"But Christ, Beatrice! He burned down countless people's homes, he's killed people for his own profit, among other horrible crimes!" Laurent shouted. Beatrice shook her head.

"Did you ever stop and think that perhaps not everything is at seems? What if he was framed? We both know the Daily Punctilio is nearly always wrong!" she cried. She had not wanted to do this, but it would be the only way he would understand. "Look! Read the letter, and tell me that he is an evil man again!" She thrust the letter at Laurent.

_Dearest Beatrice,_

_Greetings. I hope you fare well, and I apologize that I did not attend your wedding. I imagined it would be far too awkward for the both of us. I wish you and your new husband nothing but the best, no matter how much I wish things were different._

_The others have forbidden me to contact you, but there is something I absolutely must tell you. I was never on O's side of the schism. The Daily Punctilio was lying. I have always been an honorable man, and I would never kill a soul. You should know better than anybody that I hate the people who cause harm to others simply for their own gain. If I was indeed one of these men, I would have forced you to stay with me rather than marry Laurent and be happy._

_I am unsure as to whether you believe me, but I pray that you will. I cannot stand having you think of me as a murderer without knowing the truth. Know this: I will always love you._

_With all due respect,_

_Lemony Snicket_

Laurent folded the letter in two. Beatrice looked at him challengingly. "Tell me! Tell me he's evil!" He groaned, and put his head down. There was a long silence between them.

"What about the children?" he muttered after what seemed like ages into his sweating palms. He looked up. Beatrice's face softened, and a faraway look replaced her angry countenance.

"That's…another thing. I had been meaning to tell you this before they were even born, but…they aren't yours." Beatrice said quietly. "They're his."

Laurent stared, dumbfounded. His children, the ones he had raised since they were infants…were not really his. He thought back to the last time he had looked at Isadora or Duncan or Quigley, and suddenly was shocked that he never noticed sooner. They all had delicate, small features that were clearly _that boy's_, whereas Laurent had high, sculpted cheekbones and a wide chin. They didn't have their mother's face either. Beatrice had a round face, with perfect blue eyes that sparkled when she laughed…

Funny, that. Even announcing her love for another man, he could not take his eyes off her.

"Not mine…" repeated Laurent slowly.

"No." Beatrice said, tears beginning to stream down her face.

"Don't cry." Laurent said quietly. He put a hand out, and wiped away her tears. "Go to him."

"What?" Beatrice asked suddenly. Laurent laughed a bit.

"On second thought, write him a note first and tell him you're coming…" Beatrice looked at him as if he was insane.

"You love him, my dear. Not I. I will not stand in the way in the way of love. Write him a note, tell him everything, tell him you are coming to him as soon as you can…and tell him you love him." Laurent said. He rose from the chair, and kissed her chastely on the cheek. Beatrice began to cry again, but she was smiling.

"T-Thank you." Beatrice cried. "Thank you so much."

She embraced him one last time. Then, she released him and ran out of the room, like a small child. Laurent's composure slipped at last and a single tear ran down from his eye. He would miss her so much…

In the other room, Beatrice composed a letter as fast as her hands could type. It was a new typewriter that had only arrived that day.

_Dearest Lemony,_

_I am so ecstatic to receive your letter. I am writing this note to tell you one thing: I love you. I love you so much I want to cry. I cannot bear to spend another moment without you. I want to scribble it all over the page. Therefore, I am flying out immediately on the soonest flight to you. Wait for me, darling._

_Love,_

Beatrice Quagmire 

Beatrice smiled to herself. _Perhaps if he accepts me for leaving him, my name will someday be Beatrice Snicket…_she thought to herself. She pulled the paper out of the typewriter with a flourish.

The typewriter exploded, the keys hitting the magnificent glass window and shattering it.

Beatrice screamed in sickly surprise. The typewriter cord had been hit by a shard of glass, causing sparks to jump out of the rubber casing and onto the rich Persian carpeting. The embers quickly escalated into a small blaze, which caught on her skirt. The embers then caught on one of the bookcases, which quickly caught and spread the flames to the wall.

She ran into the hallway, and then to one of the other rooms. It was Quigley's.

"Mother?" Quigley asked worriedly, then saw her skirt, and cried out.

"The house is on fire, Quigley! Come with me, quickly!" she yelled, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him out of the room. He could barely keep up with her hectic pace, until they reached the grand library, which was now empty.

Beatrice lifted a corner of the carpet, barely believing what she was doing. "Hide…Hide down here! I'll get your father, I'll join you in a minute!" she cried. The flames had grown to a tall inferno now, which was probably ravaging the entire house. She was stunned at how quickly the fire grew. Quigley went into the secret passageway, his last glimpse of light being his mother's horrified illuminated face.

As she ran out of the room, she suddenly heard an enormous BANG. She turned around, and saw that one of the grand bookcases had toppled onto the rug. There was no way either of them could escape that way now. Hopefully Quigley would be clever enough to follow the secret passageway…

She ran to the living room, which was also ablaze. To her horror, Laurent was lying face up on the ground, seeming to have passed out from heat exhaustion. He looked just as if he was sleeping. Or worse.

The smoke was blinding. Beatrice vaguely remembered that in training, her professors had drilled into her that she should drop to the floor to avoid smoke inhalation. Surely, her lungs were filled with the horrible black stuff by now. Already she was becoming incredibly dizzy.

She fell to her knees, smoke all around her. Slowly, she put her hands out to steady herself, but it wasn't enough. She completely toppled to the ground, next to Laurent. Breathing was becoming more and more difficult. Her vision was totally clouded. It seemed there was even more smoke on the ground.

She heard Laurent whisper, "I wanted to walk you down the aisle…"

Beatrice coughed. "You will…we'll make it out…" But she knew that they wouldn't.

"Where are…Isadora and Duncan?" Laurent breathed. "Still…at the library?" Beatrice nodded, unaware that Laurent might not see her.

"And Quigley…did he get out?"

"I sent him down the secret passageway." Beatrice said weakly.

There was no response from Laurent. She forced her eyes open, and saw Laurent was no longer moving at all.

Beatrice allowed herself to weep. He had deserved so much better than her, a woman whose heart belonged to another man…

"I love you…" Laurent said, barely audible. He gave a great cough, and was no more. Beatrice reached out, and clasped his limp hand.

It was them she realized…_Oh my God. I'm going to die._

She forced her eyes open, and saw the fire growing in a ring around her and Laurent. The heat was stifling, blinding. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it almost looked like there was a figure in the flames. No, more than one. There were two figures.

Beatrice blinked, making her eyes water. God, but they were realistic. One appeared to be a tall, thin man, the other a woman with thick hair. But nobody could withstand the intense heat of fire for very long, she had learned that in training…

_Fire is, of course, very hot. So hot in fact, that the human body cannot withstand being immersed in it for a long while at all without protection…_

Without protection!

_Olaf!_

Beatrice screamed, but not even the figures drenched in fire heard her horrifying scream over the sound of part of the roof giving in above them.

………………….

"What caused the fire?" Lemony asked, as his brother examined the ruins of a room farther off. The walls had been completely destroyed, so they could talk easily while they were in separate areas. Lemony was in what appeared to have once been a library. He hated the sight of fire ruins in general, but burnt libraries always destroyed him the most. It was absolutely horrible seeing a burnt book, with the binding melted and the pages turned to soft grey ash.

"It appears to have been an electrical fire originally, but another fire was started shortly after the first one was ignited, a traditional fire. The air…" Jacques sniffed the air, "…smells strongly of kerosene. Possibly a Molotov cocktail."

"Arson?" Lemony asked. "Do you think so? But what about the electrical fire?"

"I found the melted husk of what appeared to be a typewriter missing its keys. I believe it was rigged to explode beforehand. Whoever caused these fires planned it out." Jacques said. Lemony sighed.

"Knowing how our luck goes, I would stake that Olaf started this fire. It appears to have been a rich house. Who knows what his plan was?" Lemony said wearily, beginning to dig through a particularly large pile of ashes.

"But why? Wouldn't we have heard anything concerning him?" Jacques asked. Lemony didn't respond.

His hands touched warm metal, and he lifted out what appeared to be a metal nameplate. Lemony traced the letters slowly, but then froze. The name…

"Jacques." Lemony called for his brother, horrorstruck.

"What?" Jacques asked curiously, running over. He bent down, and gasped. The slightly melted nameplate read _Mr. Laurent Quagmire._

"It's the Quagmire estate…" Jacques whispered. "We didn't know…we didn't know where they had moved to…"

Lemony dropped it, hands shaking. "Beatrice…_Beatrice!"_ he cried, jumping up, and running to the largest ash pile in the house. If she was anywhere, she would be there. Jacques had diagnosed that the roof had given out in the old living room. He frantically began to dig, scratching his arms on the unburnt wood and getting dust in his eyes. His only thought was _Beatrice couldn't breathe under the ash!_ He at last touched something soft and cold…

Lemony pulled Beatrice's body out of the ashes, absolutely horrified. She was ice-cold, and her hair was tangled and filthy with ash. Funny, she didn't have a single burn mark on her. The roof must have collapsed on her…

Her hand was clutching a piece of paper. He gently pried those slender fingers open, the fingers he had been forbidden to even look at by the organization, and read the paper. It was a note, addressed to him.

When he finished the note, he yelled out and sobbed, clutching Beatrice close to him. He ran his fingers through her dirty hair, clutched her dead hands, and pressed his face into her pale white neck.

The way his tears ran onto her skin made it appear that the corpse was crying as well.


End file.
